


Milk and Cookie Memories

by OmoYasha



Series: Omovember 2020 [4]
Category: Edward Scissorhands (1990)
Genre: Communication Failure, Fandom's first pissfic, Gen, Intoxication, Omorashi, Wetting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:33:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27414307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OmoYasha/pseuds/OmoYasha
Summary: Edward lived in the house on the hill.He had lived there since forever; since the very first moments he could remember living.  Since he wasn’t so much “unfinished” as “barely started”.He had lived in the house on the hill forever.  But for a very, very long time, he had lived there alone.  And when he was alone, he forgot things.
Series: Omovember 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1998742
Comments: 14
Kudos: 23





	Milk and Cookie Memories

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: THIS IS A STORY ABOUT PEE. If you do not like that, turn back now! I started this fic for omovember, but I plan to extend it over time.
> 
> Chapter one - Omovember day five: "drunk"

Edward lived in the house on the hill.

He had lived there since forever; since the very first moments he could remember living. Since he wasn’t so much “unfinished” as “barely started”.

He had lived in the house on the hill forever. But for a very, very long time, he had lived there alone. And when he was alone, he forgot things.

It wasn’t on purpose – he never _wanted_ to forget a moment of the time he spent with his father. But… it had been a _very_ long time. And sometimes it was hard to recall the little details, when there had been nothing to remind him for so long. He didn’t exactly _like_ it, but it never seemed like a _problem_ , either.

At least, not until the nice Avon lady came, and suddenly Edward no longer lived in the big old house up on the hill – he lived in Town, with Peg and Bill and Kevin. The Boggs family, they had said.

And it was… nice, to be with a family again, even if living with him was so very different from living with his father.

But at the house on the hill, he was all alone. Edward didn’t _like_ being alone. There were… a lot of things in Town that confused him, but there were _people_. And the people _saw_ him, and _talked_ to him, and that was something he liked very much.

He had only been there two days, but during those days he had spent a lot of time trying to _remember_. Had his father ever made that expression? Was this a situation that they had read about from the big etiquette book?

…how did you act when someone smiled at you, or tucked you into bed?

Sometimes his memories provided him with an answer, if he considered it long enough – took his time. Sometimes it didn’t – or at least, hadn’t yet by the time he was whisked off to the next new, bewildering experience.

The barbeque today had given him a lot to mull over – confusing comments and confusing questions and lots and lots of remembering how to be polite. It was nice, but overwhelming, and he’d been… relieved, when everyone left and it was just him and Peg and Bill and Kevin. Peg and Bill didn’t mind if he took his time to think – or at least, they didn’t change the topic so quickly.

That night, while he was lying in bed, tucked in but not-sleeping, he tried to remember the things he didn’t have time to think about earlier. Like the interesting foods and drinks he’d tasted, or the jokes he hadn’t quite understood, or the way his abdomen felt. It felt… tender. He thought that was the word, anyways. Tight. It was just… noticeable.

The feeling was familiar, but he couldn’t quite place _how_. It wasn’t the way he felt when he hurt himself. But it also wasn’t _enjoyable_.

He lay there in the dim light, looking at the picture collage that reminded him of the one he’d made by his bed at the Old House, and mulling over his new-but-not-new feelings.

And then the person who _made_ the collage came in, and he stopped thinking about those things, because he was too busy looking at _her_.

And then she looked at _him,_ and they _both_ stopped thinking about anything else, because she made the most terrifying noise he had ever heard in his life.

And she was scared and yelling and frightening, and _he_ was scared, and one of his scissors must have hit the strange quivery bed because then he was flailing around and there was water spraying _everywhere_ and she was _still screaming –_

…it took a few minutes after she fled the room for Edward to stop panicking and stumble into the hallway, wide-eyed and still rattled by the ongoing shouting. Bill caught him on his way to the front door – _away from the shouting_ – and told him to come with him.

Bill was _not_ shouting, or spraying water, or scared of him, so he let the man steer him into the bathroom and just… stayed very still as Bill dried him off and helped him put on clean pajamas. By the time they sat down at the counter, Edward felt much calmer, listening as Bill explained about teenage girls, and… _glands_?

Edward hadn’t heard the word before, but Bill simply said he didn’t like to think about it… so he didn’t ask any further.

He was curious when Bill slid a glass across the counter to him, full of clear, yellowish-brown liquid.

He looked from the glass, to Bill.

“What is it?”

* * *

  
“What is it, you are wondering?”

His father’s eyes crinkled as he moved the tray closer, noticing how Edward’s gaze followed the objects – the plate, the two glasses, and the jug. Edward nodded slightly, and the old man continued.

“Well, I’m certain you recognize these, don’t you?”

He did recognize the things on the plate; the sweet smelling shapes that came out of the machine downstairs. Cookies, his father called them, when he told the story about inventing Edward.

“And this –“ He poured the liquid carefully into each glass, frothy and white.

“- this is milk. Milk and cookies go very well together you see, much like an old man and his son.”

Edward’s lips twitched – he had not yet quite learned how to smile – and his father beamed at him.

“I thought we could eat some cookies and drink some milk together, today. What do you think?”

Together? His father ate things often, and drank water or tea or wine. He had explained that eating was important, for people like him – food and drinks made their systems run smoothly. But Edward didn’t need to eat or drink. His body ran fine by itself. He tilted his head slightly, glancing between the cookies, and the old inventor.

“Yes, I know, you don’t _need_ to eat or drink. But nobody eats cookies because they _need_ to – they eat them because they enjoy the taste. And it is even better to share something lovely than to have it to yourself! Would you like to try?”

He considered the question – he had never thought of eating before, but he had always been curious. Just as he was at all the many things his father did that he did not – just as he liked watching his father’s hands move – sketching, planning, assembling – and wonder how it felt to have parts that moved in such delicate ways.

He leaned forward, and his father laughed, and picked up a heart shaped cookie off the plate. He broke off a tiny piece.

“Open your mouth, Edward.”

Edward did, closing his eyes – and jumped slightly, even though he halfway expected it, when his father put something on his tongue.

He blinked, opening his eyes. His father broke off a bit of cookie for himself.

“Hold it in your mouth a moment, before you swallow. It’s sweet, isn’t it? Sweet and rich.”

The flavor was impossible to describe – it was like nothing he had ever experienced. The cookie seemed to melt away in his mouth, leaving a burst of lingering flavor that reminded him of the sensation of being hugged. Did all food taste like this?

His father left him to wonder at it for a moment, content to watch as he explored the new experience, the texture and the taste.

“Now, before we have more cookies, why don’t you try a sip of milk?”

They were having _more_? 

Edward nodded, scissors twitching with a quiet “snick” to betray his enthusiasm. The old man’s smile grew. With his careful, always steady hands, Edward’s father lifted a glass to his mouth, and began explaining how to drink.

* * *

  
Lemonade was _nothing_ like milk, or tea.

This drink burned all the way down his throat when he swallowed, and left an unpleasant taste on his tongue. He stared at Bill, making a high pitched, strained noise at the sensation in his throat.

Bill said something calmly, and refilled his glass. Bill was drinking from his own cup – he did not seem upset.

Sometimes Edward’s father had him drink things, when dust got down his throat and made it hard to talk. Maybe drinking more would help?

…drinking more lemonade definitely did _not_ help, and he was relieved when Bill refilled his glass with water instead, saying something about “going too fast”.

Water was much more familiar territory, and helped the burning considerably.

Bill didn’t talk much, which was also a relief. Edward was thinking, and he didn’t think that he could talk and think at the same time right then.

He felt… fuzzy. Warm and a little dizzy, like his body wasn’t quite speaking properly to his brain.

The strange sensation he’d been feeling all evening nagged at him from among the new ones. It was worse now – a heavy feeling. A persistent, uncomfortable pressure inside him. He catalogued it with the other feelings. Moving made it more noticeable – and also made his head spin – so he tried not to. That was fine. Moving seemed awfully difficult at the moment, and Edward was very good at staying still.

He sat still at the counter, and let his attention drift from thought to thought in a confusingly non-linear way. After some time, he realized belatedly that Peg was in the room behind him, talking. Talking to _him_ , because even though he missed the beginning, he heard her say his name in a sentence he sluggishly parsed as asking him to introduce himself.

Introduce himself. He knew how to do that.

He turned in his seat, and tried to introduce himself – but his tongue felt thick and clumsy, and the words kept vanishing from his head somewhere between planning them, and forming them in his mouth.

So when he made eye contact with Kim, after a second’s pause, what came out of his throat was a faint, rattly moan that was neither the “Hello” _nor_ the “I am Edward” that he’d intended.

And then the sudden movement caught up to him, and a wave of dizziness hit, and suddenly Kim was screaming again and – oh. He was on the floor.

The scream was only short, this time, and then someone’s hands were helping him sit up and lean against the base of the counter. Peg was leaning over him and talking, but he gave up trying to sort out the chaotic jumble of sounds in favor of looking at her intently. Maybe if he watched her for long enough, he could figure out why she had a second set of eyes swimming in his vision.

Peg left his field of vision, and he was distracted by the various odd ways his body felt. He dimly noticed that it was quiet, and then heard talking – Peg and Bill?

He still felt dizzy and heavy and… tingly? Or ticklish? It reminded him of having his reflexes tested, except normally then the tingling was on his arms and legs, not _inside_ him.

And then there was _heat_ against his skin, between his legs, and it startled him into flinching, knocking his head against the counter.

He heard Bill say something about drinks, and something clicked – finally, a memory of when he’d experienced this before swum to the surface of his fuzzy thoughts.  
  


* * *

  
His father smiled at him.

“I’m glad to see you share my love of cookies and milk, Edward.” he said, with a chuckle that creased his face into a pleasant map of lines.

“It is wonderful to share the things we love, isn’t it?”

He looked to Edward, reading in his expression something of the happy feelings that warmed his chest, as well as his ever present curiosity.

“Ah, but you’re still wondering what _this_ is for, aren’t you?” he asked, as he finished pinning the soft folds of cloth around Edwards hips, and began fastening his pants back into place.

He paused a moment – giving space for Edward to speak, if he wanted to – but when his creation remained silent as usual, he continued easily, unperturbed by the gap in conversation.

“Well, eating and drinking puts things inside our bodies, doesn’t it? And anything which goes into the body must, in some form, come out again.”

He waited, giving time for the information to sink in.

Edward blinked, trying to imagine how exactly that would happen, and connect the concept to the sketches his father had showed him of his insides. He mulled it over for a moment.

He looked down at where his father was buckling up his clothing over the new layer of padding against his skin, still not understanding the function.

His father gave a huff of laughter as he finished with the last strap and stepped back.

“It is absorbent.” he said.

“We wouldn’t want it to come out all over the floor now, would we?”

Edward nodded.

“No.” he agreed quietly. The explanation made sense – spilling things on the floor meant they had to be cleaned up – and besides, it could be slippery and dangerous. His father had told him that some time ago, when Edward got wet outside, and dripped water all over the house.

If water all over the floor was bad, it made sense that milk was the same.

“Now – there are some repairs to be done today. Would you like to help?”

Edward did, and so he followed the old man down to the workshop to help him cut wires and twist screws on his other projects, and watch him match the parts together into something which could move and hiss and create. The tightness, the tingling in his abdomen didn’t mean anything to him – Edward’s body always felt strange to him, then, because so many things were new – but he jumped when he felt the warmth. The sudden, foreign feeling distracted him from the part he was working on, made him take a deep, sharp breath.

His father put a hand on his shoulder, steered him away from the workbench where he had nearly knocked the project off with his unexpected twitchiness.

“This must feel very strange to you, your first time, hmm? But it’s perfectly natural. Just relax, and you will feel much better. Bodies aren’t meant to hold onto these things for too long.”

Edward tried to listen to the advice, and at first nothing happened. But after a moment, the warmth blossomed against his skin, spreading through the soft fabric under his clothing. It felt odd.

He stood very still, not certain what to think of the experience.

“You look startled, Edward.” His father’s voice was rich with amusement.

“Was it different than you expected?”

Edward slowly glanced down, then back at his father.

“It’s warm.” He said, finally.

His father smiled broadly, the way he always did when Edward voiced a question.

“Ah, yes – but your body is very warm inside as well. It has been inside of you for some time – it is the same temperature as you are.”

Edward thought about that – it also made sense. The cloth hung heavy and wet now, clinging oddly where his clothing pressed it to his hips.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?”

The inventor gave his shoulder a squeeze, and then removed his hand to retrieve his cane. He made his way toward the stairs, as Edward followed close behind.

“And when we’re done with that… perhaps some reading, hmm?”

* * *

  
Oh. So he had felt this before.

He didn’t drink, when he was by himself – and he had been by himself so long that he had forgotten about that detail. It was just because of the lemonade and water – and the other things he’d drunk earlier.

Then, after a long moment, a throb from his abdomen and a new trickle of heat in his groin reminded him of why that was _not_ a good thing. He wasn’t dressed right.

It wasn’t right and he couldn’t remember if there was something else to do about it – his thoughts were hazy and his body wasn’t moving properly and there was too much liquid inside him and it was going to go all over the floor because he _wasn’t dressed right_.

He was not relaxed at all, but it didn’t seem to make a difference – he could feel it spilling out of him, crawling across the skin of his thighs and buttocks in a very unpleasant sensation. Hot and liquid and _prickly_ – there was nothing for it to soak into, so it spread until it could drip out through the cracks and seams of his old clothing to wet the clothing _they_ gave him.

It felt wrong.

He tried to take a deep breath, and tried to weave his scissors together, not liking how they clanged as he misjudged the distance.

Why couldn’t he move right?

Anxious, he let a sound bubble up in his throat that wasn’t even an attempt at words…

…and Peg was touching his shoulder, talking.

* * *

  
“Really, Bill – giving that boy alcohol! He’s hardly even left his property before now – did he even know what it was?”

Bill rubbed his neck sheepishly.

“I didn’t think it’d hit him so hard… he drank it easy enough. I cut him off and gave him some water after the second drink. He’s just-“ he waved a hand in the direction they had left Edward sitting on the floor, his back against the bar.

With what they’d seen so far of Edward’s _normal_ behavior, it was difficult to tell just how drunk he was. However, going by the bizarre response to being asked for an introduction, and the way he’d gone toppling off the stool, it seemed safe to say that the young man was solidly on the wrong side of tipsy.

He hadn’t really responded when Peg had helped him sit up, asked if he was alright. Just stared at her, expression more vacant than usual.

But he was awake enough not to slump over again when she let go, and seemed more confused than upset – so they’d let him be while they reassured Kim and sent her back to bed.

At least she wasn’t so intimidated by poor Edward, now – even if she was unimpressed by the bungled introductions.

Peg sighed.

“I suppose we can’t expect him to –“ She paused at the faint clattering noise coming from Edward’s direction. She and her husband exchanged the kind of look that all parents do, trying to decide whether the noise could be safely ignored.

The doubt vanished when the clacking was joined by a noise which sounded halfway between a strained inhalation and an unhappy moan.

Peg ducked back around the corner.

“Edward, is everything….? Oh my…”

Edward sat exactly where they’d left him, leaning against the bar, although he’d woven the blades of his hands between each other in some approximation of how another person might knit their fingers together. He had them raised slightly, so that the lattice of metal halfway blocked the view of his face.

But it didn’t take long to pinpoint what was bothering him – he was sitting in a puddle which hadn’t been there when they turned away to have their discussion a few minutes ago.

She glanced at the bar above him, halfway expecting he had somehow managed to tip a cup over on himself. But the bar was in order, and in any case, the scent gave away the source of the puddle as she stepped closer.

“Oh dear…” Peg closed the distance. “Edward?”

He didn’t look up, so she put a hand on his arm.

“You’ve had a bit of an accident, dear.”

Edward slowly lowered his hands to look at her. He was breathing harder than normal, but his expression was as difficult as always to read.

“Come here Edward, let’s get you cleaned up honey.”

Edward blinked at that, and must have at least partly understood, because he… well, he _attempted_ to get up when she tried to guide him, only to overbalance and nearly hit the floor again before she caught him.

After a few more attempts, she and Bill together managed to get him off the floor with some difficulty. Bill grunted as he wrapped Edward’s arm around his shoulder, the younger man leaning heavily against him.

“Jesus, you’re heavy for such a skinny guy. What are your bones made of, solid metal? Holy cow.”

Edward responded with an unintelligible noise, and a snick of his scissors which was probably absentminded movement, but was nevertheless threatening enough (with his hands so close to Bill’s neck and face) that neither Bill nor Peg distracted him with further chatter as they led him back to the bathroom.

Bill remained to help. So far, helping Edward dress had been a very simple task – the issue being his ability to handle zippers and buttons, not his willingness or his understanding of where things were _intended_ to go.

Peg had to laugh, remembering the unforgettable sight of Edward flailing around silently, stuck in a shirt on that first day. But in retrospect, she was fairly impressed by how far he _had_ gotten by himself.

This evening was obviously a bit different; even if he was willing, he wasn’t going to be much use in the process when he could barely stay upright… and she also wasn’t certain how much of the things she was saying were getting through to him at the moment.

So Bill helped keep him on his feet, while Peg peeled off the sopping robe and pajamas. It was at that point, confronted with his bizarre suit with its seemingly infinite combinations of straps and buckles, that it occurred to Peg they may have hit a hurdle.

The last two days, they had simply let Edward keep wearing the thing under whatever else he dressed in. It seemed to be what he wanted, and she certainly wasn’t going to argue for him to take it off when he seemed perfectly comfortable despite the… whatever that material was.

But he needed to wash.

And the suit undoubtedly needed to be washed as well.

And she simply wasn’t sure how to approach the arcane labyrinth of fastenings.

Eventually, she decided to just start at the neck, and work her way down. But when she reached for the first buckle, Edward flinched hard enough to nearly fall over despite Bill’s arm around his waist.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, inspecting his face closely. He didn’t answer, but when she reached for it again, he shook his head no – motion more exaggerated than his usual tiny gestures.

Was he shy?

“Sorry Ed – we’ve got to get that off to clean you up.” Bill said calmly.

Edward made another odd, high pitched noise under his breath – it occurred to her that he had made more different noises in the last twenty minutes than he had in the last two days. Apparently, Edward was a chatty drunk – or at least, it seemed like he would be if his responses were words, instead of various noises that she had never heard emerge from a human throat before. It was, she had to admit, endearing.

“He’s right, Edward – you need to wash up. And your clothes need to be cleaned, too. You can put it back on when it’s clean, okay?”

Edward stared at her for a long moment, but he relaxed slightly, lowering his arms from the slightly defensive way he’d curled them to his chest.

There were no more issues from him after that, leaving her to fight with the various closures.

“My goodness, how many ways does one jacket need to close!” she exclaimed, as she struggled to unfasten a strap under his armpit – the fifth buckle she had undone just on the top part of the garment. Edward, unsurprisingly, stayed silent, but her husband chuckled.

“I don’t know Peg – looking at what he did to those suspenders, maybe whoever got him this had the right idea.”

That was…a fair point. Whatever else you could say about it, the outfit had survived who knows how much wear without more than a few scuff marks, where – in the first hour of wearing them – his newer clothing had needed to be mended in several places. There was _no_ chance that Edward could snip _that_ off of himself by accident. Although, by the time they had managed to unwrap all the various pieces of the suit, she was already not looking forward to putting it back on.

She inspected the material. Fortunately, it looked as if it could be wiped clean without too much difficulty.

Once they got him in the bath, things went a little smoother – he stayed still, and let her gently scrub him with a washcloth. Or at least, he did until about halfway through the bath, at which point he began slowly drooping until she had to remind him repeatedly to keep his hands out of the water so they wouldn’t get rusty.

They left his bodysuit to dry overnight from its cleaning, neither of them relishing the idea of trying to do up all those straps and buckles when Edward was more than half asleep, and both of them _wished_ they were.

Instead, they got enough clothes on him to be decent, and managed to bundle him into the sofa bed. This time, he didn’t watch as Peg wished him goodnight – he was asleep before she could even finish pulling up the covers, breathing softly and flopped in a boneless position so very different from his usual stiff posture.

With a smile, she brushed a strand of Edward’s hair off his forehead. Edward always looked young – he really only looked a few years older than Kim, early twenties at the most. And with his quiet personality and his usual expression which hovered somewhere between bewilderment and wide eyed, childish curiosity, it was easy to mistake him for younger if you didn’t look closely enough.

But sleeping, relaxed… he looked young in a different way. The dim light softened his face, blending his scars to almost invisible in a way no makeup could manage. Watching him sleep, she could almost imagine him as he must have been before… whatever had happened to him in that mansion up on the hill. Whatever had left him scarred and alone and scared.

She hadn’t seen him sleep before. It was easier to imagine him well cared-for, like this; somebody’s child.

He must have been a very sweet boy.

She logged the mental image in her memory, and left him to sleep it off in peace… although not without making a mental note to never give the young man alcohol again, if this was how he reacted.

In the morning, when the crack of dawn found Edward already up and waiting for her, with no hint of a hangover, she added another mental note to the list – seeing the nasty scratches he had _already_ managed to place on his ribs and arm, she realized that his ridiculous suit _did_ serve a purpose after all.

If she ever found herself bathing him again, the suit would have to go back on _before_ bed. His father, whoever he had been, must have been a genius.

…a genius with an unholy love for buckles, she amended a little while later, as she struggled to put the outfit back onto a patched up and much more cooperative Edward.

“I don’t suppose _you_ know how to get this thing on, do you?” She asked him, frustrated as she realized that she had fastened yet another strap out of order and had to backtrack.

He stared at her blankly, looking from her face, to the strap in her hands.

Oh, of course. Hands. And Edward seemed to take things so literally – of course he wasn’t sure how to answer.

“Sorry dear. I mean, how did your father get this suit on? Do you remember?”

Edward was silent for a long moment, and Peg held her breath. Was there some trick to it that she was missing?

Just when she thought he wasn’t going to answer, Edward looked from his outfit back to her, tilted his head slightly, and said – in what she was beginning to recognize as classic Edward fashion,

“….buckles.”

She wasn’t sure what she expected.

It was going to be a long day, wasn’t it?

**Author's Note:**

> I hope I am not the only person in the world who is fascinated by either Edward Scissorhands, or Edward Scissorhands omorashi.  
> But I absolutely am, so I figured I'd share it. Enjoy!
> 
> Feel free to look me up on tumblr at omoyasha.tumblr.com
> 
> As always, comments and feedback are beloved and dear to my heart.


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